"Say on, my friend."

"Well--I was thinkin' that you, may be, bein' accustomed to hosses--"

"My father," put in Mr. Mortimer, "rode to hounds habitually. A _beau
ideal_, if I may say so, of the Old English squire. It is in the
blood."

"I _know_ it's a come-down," Sam owned. "And a shilling at most for
overtime--meanin' no offence--"

Mr. Mortimer waved a hand.

"If," said he, "it be a question of my rendering you any small service,
I beg, my friend--I command--that all question of pecuniary recompense
be left out of the discussion."

Sam, feeling that he had to deal with a noble character, explained that
the job was an easy one; merely to lead or ride one of the horses down
the hauling-path to where the boat lay, to hitch on the tackle, cast off
straps, pull up and ship the two crowbars to which they were made fast,
and so take the tiller and steer home. The horse knew his business, and
would do the rest.

"And you can't mistake the boat. _Duchess of Teck_ is her name, an' she
lies about three ropes' lengths this side of the iron bridge, just as
you come abreast o' the brick wall that belongs to the Orph'nage."

"Bring forth the steed," commanded Mr. Mortimer. "Nay, I will accompany
you to the stables and fetch him."